Michelle's Death and Burial

Social Forums Non-Philosophical Chat
1

My younger sister, Michelle, died of cancer. It was expected, but it still came too soon for all her family, even though it seemed to take a long time.
She’d received all the known treatments, but it was hopeless. The final ‘treatment’ could only be death.

I went to see her after I heard she was dying. She had decided to die at home rather than in hospice, which I understood and accepted. Her home was chaotic. She had visiting nurses, a night-time care giver, family members milling around speaking in whispers right next to her. Busy, busy people–all doing nothing. She’d been put on oral morphine, administered every four hours.

Her eldest, a daughter, had been given the responsibility of following her Living Will–use no extraordinary means to prolong her life. D. promised me that she’d follow those instructions. I agreed with D. and reminded her that we had interment rights at a cemetery, that had been paid for by our Father, but not used by him. She said they’d found the papers and that would be taken care of. She then left the house, carrying two pictures she said her Mom had asked her to give to someone only she couldn’t remember who. I spent the night there, playing solitaire on my computer, and checking every hour with Michelle and her night time caregiver. She had a quiet night.

The next day was also chaotic. My nephew, Michelle’s youngest, kept insisting that his mother should be taken off the morphine–that it upset her stomach. It undoubtedly did. But my nephew, I’d been told, had spoken with his father, Michelle’s former husband, and they’d agreed Michelle should be under a doctor’s care and in hospice rather than at home under the care of our sister-in-law, a nurse-practitioner. In the meantime, the day-time caregiver arrived, saying she’d brought her own food, which she began to eat. My nephew continued his rant with the visiting nurse, my brother was busy with getting Michelle’s will, which had been drawn up by my niece’s divorce lawyer, signed and witnessed. He told me what he was doing was none of my concern. Again, the house was in turmoil with the lawyer and two witnesses adding to the crowd. When it was over, I went home.

To be continued

2

When I started this, I did so because I was angry. Perhaps it was transference, but I’m not sure.

The evening, when I got home, I got a phone call from my sister-in-law wanting to know where the pictures were. Before I could answer, she went on ranting about how nothing was to leave that house–everything belonged to “the kids.” I told her to ask D. about the pictures, but she kept going on. She was accusing me of having stolen from Michelle’s home! I’m afraid I blew up.

I told her, again, to talk to D. about the damned pictures, that I had seen them as D. was saying good night to my husband and me because the white frames were so dusty D.s fingerprints were noticeable. I went on to say that, if she wanted to know about family thieving, she should talk to our youngest sister, who had, along with Michelle, taken everything valuable from Mom’s home after she died and my Father had left the State. I said they felt justified because they’d ‘taken care’ of Mom when Dad left. (We all did.) Anyway, they took what they wanted, then had a garage sale–without telling anyone.

At the end of my rant, M. gave a half-hearted apology, saying she’d never heard what happened back then. Of course not–she hadn’t been around, then! She had no way of knowing that what I called my parents’ ‘horribleness’, which had gone on for months and had ended in a divorce after 54 yrs. of marriage,
because my Father learned that his girl-friend from WW2 was a widow, had sent both my Mother and me over the edge. I went back to seeing a psychiatrist and was ultimately put on drug therapy. I’m still on the drugs, which keep my from recrossing the line. I just get very close to it, now.

Anyway, I decided to go back to Michelle’s so I could say my final goodbye. I was met by D. and her sister and brother as the 3 of them were leaving the house. Then my sister-in-law met my husband and me and said I probably should not have come. I told her I’d asked Michelle if she wanted me there and she’d said yes–that she’d said my husband and I were always welcome, no matter what. The 3 ‘kids’ were out in the front yard talking. I asked D.'s 10yr old daughter if everything was all right and she said yes, they were just talking to her uncle about something. The night-time caretaker arrived and she, my husband and I were told to wait in the living room. Then the real fun began.

The girls called their children from outside the front door and left. My husband also left. The caretaker and I were still in the living room when my nephew came into the house. After a minute, he came into living room. He started talking about how happy he’d been that Len and I were his god-parents, how we’d taken care of him when his parents were gone. I thought he was leading up to an apology, but I didn’t want him to embarrass himself in front of the caretaker, so I changed the subject. I was babbling on about how much fun we’d all had when he was a child and other such nonsense when I made the mistake of saying that I often disagreed with what he said on FaceBook, because I’m more liberal than he appears to be. He stood up and said, “I just want everyone to be happy and at peace with each other.” To which I said, “Yes, but to do that, people have to listen to, and try to understand each other.”

He stormed into the family room, where my s-i-l was with Michelle, then marched up the stairs saying he was going to take a shower and that if I couldn’t bring joy into the house, I wasn’t welcome! The caretaker looked at me and said she hoped his shower was a good one. A short while later, Michelle’s middle child called. By this time, I was in the back yard, quivering. My niece told me I was to leave–just get in my car and leave. I said my husband had driven me down. I had no car. A. was so enraged I could her hear talking after I put the phone down at my side. I heard her say she’d call Len, if I didn’t–she just wanted me out! She kept going on, asking if I was listening to her (I wasn’t) and saying she’d hang up on me, “Don’t believe I won’t!” With that, I beat her to it and hung up.

You see, my phone was in my purse inside the house. I had to have it to call Len. My s-i-l came out and asked me what I’d expected. I told her I certainly hadn’t expected to be treated as I had been and that I expected an apology from my nephew, at least. I went in, got my phone, and called Len from the back yard. By then, D. had returned to the house–it was about 10:30 by then and pretty dark. I was called back into the house and was told I could talk with my sister. So I did.

We remembered things and made each other laugh. Len got there, and he joined the conversation for a short time. In the background was a video playing of the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice. Michelle said she loved the music because it was so soothing. I told her I thought that could be taken care of. Len and I left shortly thereafter. That was the last time I saw my sister.

To be continued.

3

As much as we love and need our family they can often be the worst thing for us. People are nuts and you will be fine and strong. Just find a damn fine belly laugh.

4

Having experienced similar situations with family at the deaths of my mother and father (same year), I can sympathize. You’ll get past all this. Stay true to yourself and take Kriswest’s advice. Taking care of business will ease the pain of loss somewhat. Then, when all of the family reactions have subsided, you will grieve on your own. A good cry helps.

5

Kris and Irrellus, thank you. My reply is coming.

I hope I can end this tonight. I’m sure people are as tired of reading it as I am tired of writing it.

I spent the day after I got home quietly–sorting through my thoughts and feelings, trying make some sense of them. The next day, after making inquiries, I found a copy of the music from Pride and Prejudice and asked Len to please go and pick it up along with some things from the grocery store–food for my sister and her children. When he got home, we packed it up and I asked him to take it to the house for me. He didn’t want to because of the way he thought I’d been treated, but I convinced him to take it down and just leave it on the front porch. I included a note my niece. This was on Thurs. evening. On Sun. afternoon, someone called to tell Len Michelle had passed away that day at around 12:45 pm, while listening to the CDs I’d sent down. That was Sun., 23 Jun., three days before her birthday.

The next day, all of the surviving siblings got an e-mail from Michelle’s middle child. The cemetery needed our statements saying we were willing to have our sister buried in the plot available to our family and it was needed the next day–Tues. We don’t have a fax machine, but the cemetery is close enough to us so we just took it up there. On Wed., we got another e-mail saying our statements weren’t enough. We had to sign a form and provide proof of my Father’s death! I didn’t know where my Father had died or where he’s buried so I was no help there. Again, Len and I went to the cemetery to sign the form and to ask what would happen if there was no proof of my Father’s death. The funeral director told us that me older brother had faxed a copy of the death certificate, so that had been taken care of. Had he not had it, Michelle wouldn’t have been buried when she finally was. She was buried this past Mon., 1 Jul., a week and a day after she’d died.

Throughout the week, I’d been trying to find out where my sister’s remains were. I finally got an e-mail from the middle child saying my sister was in a funeral home in Black Diamond but had not wanted a ‘viewing.’ (I thought that was odd, since Michelle and D. had spent time choosing her burial clothes–as I learned from one of D.'s many entries on FB.) Finally, on Fri., D. wrote to say her Mom was at a funeral home in Buckley, but I should call to find out what their hours were. No one ever told me the name of the funeral home. On Sat., through another FB entry, I learned that my sister would be taken from the funeral home (in Black Diamond) on Mon. morning to the cemetery here where the grave-side service would be held. After her burial, we were all to meet again at 1PM–in Black Diamond–for the Catholic service. Then we were all invited to a wine bar/restaurant in Maple Valley for a “Celebration” of Michelle’s life.

It was a very hot, bright day and a long and grueling one. I made up a bouquet of flowers from my garden, all of which symbolized portions of Michelle’s life, to put on her casket. Len and Ellie, our daughter, helped me with it. We got to the cemetery before the hearse, which arrived about 10 min. later. None of my sister’s children made any effort to greet my little family–two of them never even bothered to say hello, either then or later. D. and my s-i-l both thanked me for the music, however. Later, at the church where D. read her eulogy, I was surprised to hear how often the word “joy” was used. Even my nephew had used it when he tried to kick me out of the house. D. had used it frequently in her FB entries. Then it dawned on me. It was the title of a book I’d given my sister this past spring! D. even quoted from it in the eulogy and put it on the memory table at the front of the church. Before we left the church, I told D. that I’d given Michelle the book. D. seemed surprised and said no one knew where the book had come from, but that it was perfect for her mother!

Despite all, I had been a part of my sister’s death.

I said at the outset of this, that I started out angry. The day after the funeral, I was no longer angry. I’m at peace with myself–and my nieces and nephew. I’d told Michelle I was there because I didn’t want her to be alone. She laughed and asked me when she’d ever been alone. She was right–she was always surrounded by friends–and usually a lot of them. And Michelle usually got what she wanted–even when it didn’t come out of her closet! She got married when she wanted to, although Dad asked her wait until he’d had a yard put in to the new house we’d just moved into. But Michelle said she’d be married when she wanted to be married and Dad and I put in the yard. Michelle always wanted to be perfect–she wanted to be the “perfect” wife and the “perfect” mother. She taught her children to always say, I love you, and the family catch phrase that ended every conversation was “Luv you!” Unfortunately, her children never learned to mean the words. D.'s daughter is adopted and had lived with various members of her birth family until she’d finished kindergarten. One day, at a family birthday party, she was told to give “Auntie Lizzy a hug and tell her you love her.” I think the child had only seen me once or twice before, but she came up to me, arms outstretched. When she got close enough, I told her she didn’t have to hug me if she didn’t want to. She dropped her arms, looked at me, smiled, then turned around to go back to playing with the other kids. Even the youngest grand-niece has been taught to hug family members and say, “Luv you” because that’s the perfect way to treat family members.

As for Michelle’s children, themselves, they obviously don’t know love or how to treat family members. Beyond that, the younger niece has divorced and remarried. D. was divorced before 10 years of marriage. My nephew was into drugs as an early teenager. And Michelle’s husband left her after 30 yrs. to take up with a married woman.

There’s no blame attached to what I’ve said. Everyone did what they did because it was all they could think of doing at the time. (Except for Michelle’s husband–he’s just a slime ball. Len and I had a kind of joke–whenever T. was unfaithful, he’d give Michelle jewelry. She had quite a collection before he left!) No, there’s no blame, only a quiet grief. My beautiful younger sister, who wanted only perfection, got a sham. She suffered a great deal, both mentally and physically, for many years. I look back over her life, and it was full of glamor–everything our Mother wanted for us. At the end, though, nothing was real.

Except her death.

I’ve learned a lot for her death. First of all, I learned never to rely on a family member to care for you or yours if you’re sick and/or dying. They’re just too involved, themselves. Even physicians won’t care for family members. To leave my sister under the care of our sister-in-law should never have been allowed, despite her degrees and experience. As a nurse practitioner, s/he can prescribe medication and give instructions to nurses and care givers. Many N-P’s act as primary care providers in rural or inner urban environments where there are too few doctors for all the patients. That’s fine–when there are no doctor’s. But, even then, the np gets advice from the doctor in charge. In Michelle’s case, although she had a doctor, the doctor was never consulted, as far as I’ve been told. Instead, she woke up early one morning in horrible pain and acute gastric distress. Everyone know she had cancer; everyone assumed that was what was causing her pain. S-i-law was called and she immediately started her 2 1/2 hr. drive to Michelle’s. She started Michelle on Morphine and Compazine, every four hours–Morphine for the pain and Compazine for her gastroenteritis, among some other drugs I can’t remember the names of. Everyone thought Michelle, Michelle–cancer, cancer.

I don’t think anyone thought that Michelle wanted to die or that Michelle usually got her way. That’s my theory, anyway. And I’m at peace with that.

Michelle wanted to die. She’d had since last October to think about it and I’m sure that that was her decision. Everyone knew she was going to die, we just didn’t know when. Anyway, I believe Michelle chose to die and used the gastric problems toward that end–that, of course, and her cancer. We were told Michelle had a week–a week and a half left to live. The only problem is that, although the mind may be ready for death, the body doesn’t want to give up. It took Michelle over a month to die and her death was hardly perfect.

Sorry, guys, this will have to go on tomorrow. You may be asking yourself why it has to go on at all. I’ve certainly asked myself that.

I’d like to explain more of what I believe I’ve learned from my sister’s death. Maybe it’s my final bit of involvement and participation. But it’s important to me and what I say may give someone, somewhere, a glimmer of their understanding of philosophy as everyday people live it.

6

Death is a very alone thing. Sometimes, it can be very dramatic and sometimes, very quiet. It’s always alone.

Death’s affect can involve people not even known. Someone sees the funeral cortege and thinks how glad s/he is the body in the hearse isn’t theirs. Someone who sees the hearse and doesn’t think, but goes home angry for no discernible reason. The child whose father pulls over to the side of the road to let the cortege pass and asks him why he pulled over and he tries to explain death to her–both of them are effected

Most people are afraid of death. Shakespeare said it in Hamlet’s voice (Act I, scene 2) when he has Hamlet say during the “To be or not to be” soliloquy:

Why be afraid? Is it that “Conscience doth make cowards of us all?” Does doing what you think is the moral thing–the correct thing–for you to do at the time not give one a measure of peace?

Death’s affect can also be very real to the dead one’s closest–especially now, when death with dignity is so accepted. Just as death is alone, there is no real dignity to it. At the moment of death, the body starts to decay. No dignity, just a oneness with the earth which accepts decay as necessary for life to go on.

Live with all your good intentions. Accept yourself. Know yourself. Let life, with all its “…slings and arrows of outrageous fortune…” delight you. Life is much more important than death.

7

Liz: I read moist of the OP, and am in the process of reading all if it, but if I may interject with a similar story of my own.

 My son killed himself 2 years ago, and since I have written about it elsewhere, I won't go into detail about it, but only some things related to family, which relate to your feelings here.

 There were so many factors: he was sexually abused by priests in the seminary, and he had anomalous feelings about his sexuality, he had abuse by my wife his mother, and the last straw was getting cheated on by his wife.

 To top all of this off, if it wasn't enough, they were finally getting a divorce, and this was her behavior.

She told him she doesn't want him back and get his "expl-fxxxxg stuff out of the house he paid for.  (He was a teacher working for his 3 rd masters). So he did(and she was at that time 45 and he was only 29) she was a teacher too, and she lured him against the advice of all his teacher friends who knew her better)

 Finally he moved out, and started seeing someone else, and she found out, then, got a jealous attack, and said they could work things out re: the custody issues.  Asked him for dinner, and then said she will drop the restraining order which made it illegal for him to go near her. Then, when he went there, had him arrested.

 When he tried to contact his psychiatrist that he wanted to be committed because he was loosing control, the doc was out playing golf and denied he got the page.

 So I'll skip the very horrible things that went down, and go to the part when I had to barter his ex for his ashes, which finally she put next to the garbage, and the truck would've taken it to the dump, had it not been for my quick reaction to intercept it.

 Now they have a daughter and she is using her to entice my wife, who is kissing up to her, and calls her darling.  I am sometimes quite beside myself, and have to use all my wits and emotional control not to explode.

 And yes she has someone else, she comes from money and her dad obliges to make her look like a twenty some year old through various plastic surgeries.  She goes out a lot, and is very visceral, and dishonest. She uses crack cocaine and is in and out of institutions from which she goes awol, and starts the whole thing over.

 I just wrote this to show you my sympathies, and share the thought that family can be so horribly cruel.
8

Thank you.

9

I’m sorry you had to got through so much, both of you. My dad passed away a couple of years ago and I still miss him terribly.

10

liz,

Just another perspective: Perhaps Michelle is the lucky one. She is no longer tormented by the frailties of others. She is at peace. Those who have behaved badly still have to live out their allotted time in misery. So let it go and live in peace. It sounds like Michelle lived her life joyfully to the very end. Don’t let others spoil that memory…